Crushed underneath the hammer in the crucible by the clearsmith with the limp, the hailstones gathered moisture and began to drip drip drip. They melted as they smelted in a facsimile of alchemy. The master swung hard, a grisly application of his extra strength. The claustrophobic workspace encouraged a faster pace. With extra motivation, he pursued his grand ambition. Crash, gnash, smash- so the tools say. The crystalline structure, with steam rising off in waves. It allows the water to peel off, from the spear of ice. Spear and sword alike, a glaive that changes size, shape, and kind. As the night approaches a later hour, the clearsmith begins to flounder. Left with nothing else to ponder, the craftsman starts to wonder: in a crucible of heat and metal, is evaporation fundamental?
